


Naughty or Nice?

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Christmas Shopping, Derek Hale & Lydia Martin Friendship, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s just settling down for a cozy night in, in his new apartment. He’s got a Ken Burns documentary in his DVD player, a fresh bowl of popcorn in his lap and a giant mug of hot cocoa on his beautiful new coffee table. His favorite blanket just came out of the dryer, all warm and clean. There’s no supernatural disasters at the moment, and not a single pack member has texted him in hours.<br/>It’s perfect.<br/>Of course, he should have known better than to even <i>think</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naughty or Nice?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsagiStilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsagiStilinski/gifts).



Derek’s just settling down for a cozy night in, in his new apartment. He’s got a Ken Burns documentary in his DVD player, a fresh bowl of popcorn in his lap and a giant mug of hot cocoa on his beautiful new coffee table. His favorite blanket just came out of the dryer, all warm and clean. There’s no supernatural disasters at the moment, and not a single pack member has texted him in hours.

It’s perfect.

Of course, he should have known better than to even _think_ it.

Right on cue, there’s rapid knocking on his door. He tilts his head, listening to the heartbeat(s) on the other side. He hasn’t been back long enough to be able to tell everyone apart by the sound of their heart, but he knows its pack standing outside, and judging by the almost overpowering scent of Chanel No.5 seeping under the door, it includes Lydia. Or Hell on Heels, as he’s taken to calling her. He has half a mind to pretend he’s not home, but he’s pretty sure Lydia had a key made for herself. Without permission, of course, but that sort of thing doesn’t seem to bother her.

With a sigh he pushes himself off the couch, contemplating wrapping his blanket around himself just to be dramatic. But it will probably lead to someone making fun of him, so he thinks better of it.

“Coming!” he barks, eyes rolling when someone (and by someone, he means Kira) mumbles what sounds suspiciously like ‘ _that’s what she said’_ on the other side of the door. God. He should probably quit while he’s ahead.

Instead, he makes what he will look back upon as the fatal decision to open the door.

“Get dressed,” Lydia snaps before he can even ask what the hell she wants. She steps forward, leaving him no choice but to back up and let her, Kira and Malia in. “We’re going shopping and you’re coming with us.”

“No.”

He’s half hoping that Lydia will be afraid of him, will cower beneath the power of his “epic bitch face” (Stiles’ words, not his), and leave him alone. But the other half of him knows better, especially when Lydia give him her own special _look_ and taps the toe of her very tall and very sharp looking stiletto.

“ _Yes_.” She smiles, wide and fake, lips too red to be anything but lethal. “I can’t be seen in public with a man wearing sweatpants. Chop, chop!” She smacks Malia’s hand away from the bowl of fruit on his counter, all three girls turning to him with wide smiles. It’s creepy, is what it is.

Regardless of the creep factor, he knows he can’t win this one. Lydia is strong willed and frankly terrifying, but she’s not the only one capable of bending his will in the power trio standing before him. Kira must be taking “puppy dog eyes” lessons from Scott, her sad eyes and downturned mouth all Derek needs to convince him to do anything. And Malia, as transparent as she tends to be, has a knack for turning things around on him until he’s dug himself into a hole. Every situation with these three is a lose-lose for him. Well, except that he actually kind of likes them. Deep down. And secretly.

“Fine.” He huffs, deflating slightly as he shuffles down the hall to his bedroom. The sound of stilettos on hardwood follows him, and he’s not even a little bit surprised when Lydia pushes past him to get into his room. She’s rustling through his dresser by the time he gets in there, pulling out a black Henley and throwing it at him.

“This will have to do,” she mumbles, bending to rifle through his pants drawer. “Where’s those dark wash Levis?” Derek gets the impression that she’s not exactly talking _to_ him, and he has no idea what she’s talking about, so he decides to keep quiet and just change his shirt instead. Lydia apparently finds the jeans she’s looking for, popping up with what he quickly realizes is his tightest pair.

“How do you even…” He shakes his head, shucking his sweats and grabbing the Levis from her. Of course, Lydia doesn’t turn away, apparently all too content to watch him get dressed. “The fact that you _know_ which pair of my jeans is the tightest is creepy.”

“You have no room to pull the creep card sweetie,” she says with a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners when he has to jump to pull his pants up over his ass. “Let me just…” She disappears into his en suite bathroom, returning with gel on her hands. “Lean down.” Derek does as she says, mostly just because he likes it when people play with his hair. And also because she’s scary, but he’s not sure which motive is less embarrassing.

Lydia’s regarding him thoughtfully when he straightens up, hands on her hips and head tilted just slightly to the side. “I guess you’ll do.” She turns and marches back out of his room in a manner that suggests he follow or suffer the consequences. Derek waits a few seconds anyway, if only to give the illusion that he has a little bit of dignity left.

“Why do I need to go shopping with you again?” He asks as he laces up his boots. “And why do I need to be wearing this outfit?”

“Well,” Lydia smirks and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I need _somebody_ to carry my bags.”

* * *

It takes three hours, but Derek eventually convinces Lydia that there’s only so much Christmas shopping he can handle, and that limit was passed _ages_ ago. And yeah, he did find a really great gift for Scott in Lids, and having Kira drag him into Newbury Comics wasn’t exactly the _worst_ thing. (He is however, planning on never setting foot inside a dressing room with Lydia again. Being her life size ken doll is not as fun as it seems. Not that it sounds appealing at all. But still).

He’s following Malia up the stairs to his apartment (why all three girls insisted on walking him to his door, he’s unsure), when he feels it. The floor is vibrating beneath his feet, and the hallway smells much more overwhelmingly of _pack_ and _people_ than it really should. Malia hasn’t even reacted, this weird little smile on her face which can only mean bad things. She’s probably the most in tune to her surroundings out of everyone, there’s no way she hasn’t noticed the music that’s shaking the walls. Christmas music. Coming from his apartment.

_Why_.

“What is this?” Derek gestures at the door, raising an eyebrow at Lydia over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, or well, Derek thinks it’s a lie. Her heart doesn’t skip over it, but he’s pretty sure she and Stiles have been practicing that.

_Stiles._

This whole thing _reeks_ of Stiles and his ridiculous plans and his even more ridiculous face. Not that Derek spends any extra time looking at his face. Or wondering what his mouth tastes like. Or anything like that. Obviously.

Derek sighs, loudly, just to be sure he’s communicating his displeasure with the entire situation, before opening the door.

It’s like Santa Claus vomited all over his apartment, lights strung up all over the walls and tinsel hanging from the ceiling and Feliz Navidad blasting from the stereo in the corner. There’s people everywhere too, most of them he recognizes (which is a relief) dressed in holiday garb and holding glasses of what smells like spiked punch.

Scott and Stiles are of course in the middle of it all. Derek’s cheeks feel hot just looking at them, because _why_? What possessed them to think dressing up like this was even appropriate. It’s probably best to avoid them all together, so he skirts along the edge of the crowd to the kitchen ( _his_ kitchen, he reminds himself), hoping to escape unnoticed down the hall to his bedroom. As could be expected, Stiles spots him, letting out a crow of delight as he slaps Scott on his red booty short clad ass to get his attention.

Because yes. Scott and Stiles have apparently decided to dress up like “Sexy Santas”. The Santa hats and the white beards they’re wearing seem strikingly normal compared to the, well, lack of a costume. They’re squeezed into tiny red shorts and wearing red suspenders, their feet bare as they _dance_ (because of course they’re dancing) on top if his coffee table. And now they’re both grinning at him, which can only mean one thing.

Trouble.

Derek makes a break for his bedroom, pushing Liam out of the way when the beta tries to block him. Stiles is shouting somewhere behind him, but Derek charges forward, wanting nothing more than to reach his safe haven. He bursts through the door, preparing to slam it shut when long, pale fingers wrap around the door frame. Where the instinct that forces him to stop short comes from, he doesn’t want to really examine. But he does stop, though Stiles probably deserves to get his dumb fingers crushed anyways.

“ _Derek_ ,” he sings, dancing his way into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. Derek feels like a caged animal, retreating warily towards his bed. “I have a present for you!”

Derek stares in horror as Stiles pulls a plastic package out from behind his back, waving it in front of his face.

“No.” Derek growls, glaring at the red fabric (and not nearly enough of it) that he can see through the plastic. “You couldn’t _pay_ me.”

“But dude,” Stiles whines, swaying closer. “You’d look so hot!” Derek’s cheeks flush like they always do when Stiles says things like that, the little voice in the back of his head reminding him that it’s not real. Stiles came back from his first semester of college with a swagger and smelling like sex, all of the awkward, virginal, sixteen year old he used to know long gone. He’s constantly flirting, with Lydia and Scott and Danny and Kira. But he flirts with Derek the most, though he thinks Stiles just likes to embarrass him. The worst part is that Derek _wants_ it to be real, _wants_ Stiles to really want him back.

“You’re drunk,” Derek growls in an attempt to hide how flustered he is. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The smirk drops from Stiles’ face, his expression morphing into confusion and then concern. He steps closer, dropping the package onto the bed and lower his hands. “Derek.” It’s too soft, too kind, too emotional, and Derek has to look away. “You don’t… You have too… I mean, how can you _not_ know how- ugh. You look like you’re thinking that _I_ don’t think you’re like, attractive, and you look sad about it, and I don’t really know what’s happening here.” Stiles settles on the bed beside him, the inches between them too much and not enough simultaneously. He’s staring at his hands, but Derek is staring at him, captivated by the shadows his eyelashes cast on his cheeks, his ski jump nose and the perfect bow of his lips.

“It’s _fine_ ,” he mumbles. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll wear the stupid costume.” He tries to reach over Stiles to grab the package, pulling up short when long fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Dude.” He glances up, and Stiles is way too close. “What, exactly, is fine?”

Derek sighs and averts his eyes, staring pointedly at his hamper half full of dirty clothes. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“If we’re talking about how I’ve had a crush on you since I was sixteen, and have been in love with your dumb ass for the past year and a half, then I guess it’s _fine_. But I’m getting the impression that’s not what you’re talking about.”

He’s not lying, Derek can hear his heart thumping loud and steady in his chest. Stiles laughs almost bitterly, and it twists into Derek’s chest like a dagger.

“I…” Derek sighs and fights back the urge to tear his wrist out of Stiles’ grip. “I didn’t… I thought you were only interested in sex. I didn’t like you _wanted_ all of me.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles sighs, his hands coming up to cup Derek’s cheeks, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Is this your weird way of saying you want _me_? Because dude, I’m so, so down. Like you have no idea. I wanna like, take you out to ice cream and go ice skating and have dinner with my dad and maybe bring you out to meet my mom - I mean, eventually, I know that’s heavy but I thought you’d understand - and I wanna kiss you under the mistletoe and under the fireworks on the Fourth of July and on your birthday and on a ferris wheel and like, in my bed and-” Derek cuts him off with a kiss. It’s not the greatest, both of them smiling too hard to do much other than knock teeth. But it’s perfect, so perfect, and even better when Stiles tilts his chin and slides his fingers into Derek’s hair and licks across his bottom lip.

Derek moans and parts his lips, overwhelmed by the scent and the taste and the feel of Stiles surrounding him. He slides his hands down Stiles bare back, grabbing handfuls of his ass and dragging him onto his lap.

“This outfit is ridiculous,” he huffs against his mouth, unable to stop himself from smiling when Stiles throws back his head and laughs.

“You like it though.”

Derek licks a stripe up Stiles’ neck, getting ready to show him just how much he likes it when he hears bare feet slapping on the hardwood out in the hallway.

“Yeah Derek!” Scott half yells, half laughs, giddy. “Get some!”

“Listen!” Stiles yells back, as Derek hides his face in the side of his neck. “It turns out being naughty, is totally nice!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Scott groans. “Just keep it down alright!”

Stiles is kissing him again before the sound of Scott’s footsteps even fade, the bulge in his stupid red shorts _definitely_ on this side of naughty.

Derek’s just going to have to join him on the naughty list then. He’s really, really okay with it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> come [tumble](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me


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